[color=008000][b][u]Darius Arenar[/u][/b][/color]

Darius glanced down at the mark on his hand, for what must have been the fifth time that day.

He had often wondered about the Destined legend. Why him? One who was marked could not necessarily be considered unique, as there were hundreds like them, but at the same time there were also thousands who were not marked at all. The ones who were marked were granted power that put them above any other human, and yet that power only remained so long as they found another like them that the gods had - apparently - deemed to be an ideal candidate.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in the Gods. He knew that they had to exist. The world could not have spawned from nothing, after all. What he doubted was the mortals' interpretations of the gods. Too often he had read of religion being used by kings and high nobility to justify horrendous acts, or to shut down opposition. Too often had he heard stories of high ranking priests forsaking their vows. And of course, the classic question - if the gods are good, then why do they let bad things happen to good people?

Therefore he concluded that the Mark must reflect the nature of the Gods themselves. Generous yet cruel. For while the power the mark granted was great, it would just as easily fade away should they fail to meet their Destined - and most did fail. They had it worse than people who weren't marked at all, Darius reasoned, for they had to live knowing that they that there was a true love out there they would never meet, and that there was a great potential which slipped from their fingers. A blessing for the few and a curse for the many. Not unlike how there were some who were fortunate enough to be born of noble birth, while others were born into nothing, even though all would likely have the same potential if given the same opportunities.

He frowned at his conclusion. How depressing. Yet he would not delude himself into believing that the gods personally looked after every single one of their followers. But at the same time, they did create the world and those who lived on it, so gratitude was certainly in order - just not blind faith.

The carriage struck a bump on the road, disrupting him from his thoughts. He glanced down at the book he held in his hand - an accurate overview of Orewyn's previous war, written from the perspective of a Galinas general. He had long since learned the importance of hearing out both sides of any given conflict or argument. It was but one book from the half-dozen he brought with him, all on various subjects. Of course, he had not spent the entire trip so far cooped up reading - sometimes he would read his book sitting at the front, next to the driver, if only to get some fresh air, but his eyes would rarely drift to his surroundings.

Then, the carriage came to a stop. The carriage itself was nothing fancy - slightly rickety, made from simple wood, the only luxury being the cushioned chairs. There was a sharp rap at the door.

Darius slid the window open. [color=008000]"What is it?"[/color] He asked, his face blank and his tone emotionless.

It was one of the Arenar household guards, a lieutenant named Edric Riley who led the small band of eight that had been sent to escort him to the royal city. He was clad in simple chainmail adorned with Arenar heraldy, helmet tucked under his arm revealing a bald middle-aged head. "Apologies, my Lord. We've arrived at a village - Prym. There's an Inn where we should be able to stay the night."

Darius nodded, closing his book and gently placing it on the pile next to him. The guard opened the door for him. Darius was about point out that he could open the door himself, but there was no use arguing now that it was already open so he stepped outside. He took a look at his surroundings. His other guards had already dismounted and were leading the horses to the Inn's stable. The village, Prym, was quite peaceful, he supposed. He had been passed through it a handful of times on previous journeys to the capital, but remembered little of it. Commoners went about their everyday business, some giving him and his carriage a wide berth - his clothing and escort clearly indicated he was of noble birth.

He paid their avoidance of him no heed, and turned to Inn, which looked to be rather large and well-maintained, with a sign hanging over the door that read 'Granger's Plenty'. It seemed a nice enough place to stay, although in truth he was not overly particular of where he had to sleep, despite his noble upbringing. 

So without further ado, he walked up to the front door, his guard once again opening it for him to his minor annoyance, and stepped inside the Inn. He took a customary glance at his surroundings, noting a few patrons scattered here and there, the relative cleanliness of the place, and the good lighting. Yes, it would do quite well. Wasting no time, he immediately walked over to the Innkeeper. [color=008000]"What are the most efficient accommodations you can provide for nine men?"[/color] He questioned, crossing his arms and once again betraying no emotion. The Mark of the Destined would be visible on his hands, although it had not been his intention to reveal it.